


A Strange Place

by JellyfishWeeb100



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age-Canon Characters, Angst, Feelings of Loss, Other, Paranoia, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), References to Depression, Shenanigans, Some Romance, Twisted Narrative, Unreliable Narrator, gender-neutral protagonist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 03:52:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19143010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyfishWeeb100/pseuds/JellyfishWeeb100
Summary: Queens is gorgeous in June, and as you spend your sun-filled days side by side with your closest friends, you wouldn't dream of being anywhere else.Still, though, you can't deny that something feelsoffabout this place.





	A Strange Place

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out way longer than I meant it to. Spoilers for IW and EG ahead.

The sunlight, bright and white, lights the world behind your closed eyelids. It is warm, but not unpleasantly so, and you tuck into a more comfortable position in the bedsheets. Cocooned in blankets, you will yourself a few more minutes of sleep, but it doesn’t come.

There’s a pit in your stomach - a sudden sinking feeling as awareness grips your groggy brain. A feeling like static fills your ears and your chest begins to feel heavy with invisible weight.

And then, suddenly, it’s gone.

You sit up and stretch, reach a hand up to scratch your cheek and find it wet. You scrub the tears away almost aggressively and get on with the rest of your routine.

Some days, the feeling comes later than usual. You’ve almost forgotten it, and then during dinner your appetite vanishes with the renewed dread. Some mornings, you go to wash your face and find yourself zoned out, staring in the mirror as the dark cloud looming threatens to consume you.

It’s an ever present sense of sadness and longing, distant during your usual routine, creeping in without warning and gone just as quickly. You only wish you knew why.

_Coffee might help, _you think with a humorless smile, and make your way to the kitchen. The house is quiet - too quiet - without the sound of your parents and brothers rushing about to get ready for the day. The coffee maker fills the room with a soft buzzing, and you feel yourself relax.__

Once you’re primped and refreshed, travel mug in hand, you step out the door and feel the rays of the sun first hand. It isn’t too hot, but actually just perfect. It’s been weirdly mild outside for a New York June, with clear skies in the forecast for the foreseeable future.

There couldn’t possibly be a better day for a walk in the park. Or, at least, that’s what your best friend told you through text shortly after you woke up. You glance at your watch. _Running a little late as always,_ you sigh internally.

Not that that matters much; Peter’s always been pretty laid back. Very go-with-the-flow, if you will. You could use a little of that yourself.

If the map on your phone is anything to go by, the park he decided on is only a short three blocks from your townhouse.

When you approach the lawn, you realize the word “park” may have been applied a little liberally. The chunk of land is really no larger than a bedroom, with one tree in the center and apartment buildings on either side threatening to close in on the space. You can’t help a snort after spotting the brunette boy tucked into one of the highest branches of the tree.

He grins in a way that can only be described as show-offy before leaping down the good two-story height, landing impressively on his feet.

“If I end up with grey hairs before I turn twenty, I’m blaming you,” you announce once your heart has stilled from his ridiculous stunt.

He laughs, loud and clear, the sunlight blazing his locks of hair into an almost golden hue. The sight steals your breath away and you hurry to take a sip from your coffee, hoping to hide the color in your cheeks.

You offer the mug to him and he takes it, sits cross-legged in the grass and sips the bitter drink. You situate yourself beside him and you trade the mug back and forth for a bit, sitting in amicable silence. When the cup feels nearly empty in your hands and you’re having to crane your neck back for the last few drops, you set it aside and reach for your book bag. You pull out a binder stuffed messily with papers and pens and flip to a sheet of notes.

Peter’s startled voice breaks the quiet, sounding almost betrayed, “Hold on - are you doing _homework??_ On a day like this?”

You blink at him, taken back. “Uh… yeah? We have finals starting Monday, remember?”

He cocks his head to the side, brow furrowed. “We do?”

You cast your disbelieving stare to the sky, wondering which alternate dimension you must have fallen into for Peter Parker, of all people, to forget about an upcoming test. If anything, he’s the one who has to remind you of these things.

He remains looking perplexed and you give up. He’ll figure it out on Monday, anyway. Hell, he probably doesn’t need to study at all - he’s always been leagues smarter than you.

You shut the binder and stuff it back into your bag, wiping dirt off your pants as you stand. “I guess I can study later. Wanna grab ice cream?”

He breaks into a smile and stands, already leading the way down the sidewalk.

 

The parlor you two frequent is awfully quiet today, but you suppose that can be expected when it isn’t even noon yet. Peter sits across from you, going to town on a banana split and using his _actual teeth,_ making you cringe. How he can eat so much and stay so lean is completely unfair, you pout, looking down at your own meager scoop of sorbet.

He licks a dollop of whipped cream off his fingers and turns his attention to you. “Your mom expecting you back anytime soon?”

He’s always been considerate like that, making sure you get home right on time so your folks don’t worry. You smile and lick your spoon clean before answering.

“Nope! My family’s all out of town so no worries.”

He grins back at you, a playful glint to his eyes, “We get the whole day to hang out then?” You nod. He takes another big bite of his ice cream, continuing through his mouthful, “Where’r they af?”

You snort at his etiquette, annoyed by how even something rude like that could be interpreted as charming from him.

“Out of town. With my brothers.”

“Yeah, you said that but, like, where? Are they camping?”

“They’re-” you pause, tongue feeling thick in your mouth. Your brain short-circuits for a second and suddenly that _feeling_ is back in full force, filling your chest with static.

They’re… where are they exactly? You know they told you where they were going. They had to have. They wouldn’t have left you home alone without telling you, your parents are much too protective.

Actually, now that you think about it, why didn’t they take you with them?

You set your spoon down and chew on your lip, eyes glazing as you try to focus and remember when exactly they left and what they said before then, but that feeling in the back of your mind is too strong, almost enough to make you dizzy.

“You know what? I actually don’t remember,” you laugh, but panic is beginning to simmer in your stomach.

Peter seems to be oblivious to your little derailment and just laughs. “Hey that’s alright, Aunt May forgets to tell me where she’s at all the time.”

You feel a bit of the anxiety dissipate. You probably are just blanking it and getting all worried for nothing. “I guess I better call my mom tonight though and ask.”

He nods and turns to look across the room. He narrows his eyes at a trashcan in the furthest corner of the shop and suddenly throws his spoon. The utensil arcs perfectly before ricocheting off the wall and landing squarely in the can. The cashier cheers for him and you break into laughter, despite the gnawing in your gut.

 

“Do you ever feel sometimes like… like something’s missing?”

You and Peter sit on the roof of an apartment complex, dangling your legs over the ledge. Being as quiet as possible (aside from the giggling), you’d scaled the fire escape on the side of the building, stepping over the clearly marked “emergency use only” signs. He had gotten you to feel particularly rebellious today, so you didn’t fight him on it when he proposed the idea.

Besides, the sunset is absolutely gorgeous from here, just like he said it would be.

“What do you mean?” He asks, resting his cheek on his knees. As his eyes meet yours, the golden hour glow makes them appear almost radiant.

You hum and sigh, struggling to find a way to articulate your thoughts. “Like… you’re just going about your day and suddenly something feels wrong? Sometimes it’s like there’s this weight on my shoulders and I get really sad. But then it’s gone.”

His brow creases as he regards you. “You, uh, feelin alright? Is something going on that you haven’t told me about? You have been acting kinda different today.”

You shake your head. “No… no, everything’s just the same as always. I guess the stress of school is getting to me.”

“I hear you on that, just take it easy okay?”

“You got it,” you smile. “Speaking of, how’re you doing with the whole Stark-internship? Doesn’t that get hard on top of school?”

He looks puzzled for a minute, giving you a confused half-smile.

“What internship?”

You feel the grin slide right off your face. “Hey, stop playing. First you forget about finals and now your internship that you’ve been talking about _non-stop?_ Are you messing with me or something?”

Now he looks genuinely baffled. “I’m not joking, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe MJ said something about an internship and you’re getting mixed up.”

Your shoulders slump and you can only stare at him. Are you really miss-remembering that? You could have sworn…

Never mind. This day has been nothing but weird, anyway. You gather your things and stand up, heading for the ladder. “Forget it, you’re probably right. I think… I think I better go home, I’m not feeling so well.”

He scrambles to his feet. “I’m sorry, uh-! At least let me walk you home?”

You don’t answer, but he follows behind you anyway, walking you back home in silence.

 

You lay in bed sometime later, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep eludes you, even though the clock shows it’s deep into the night and your body is limp with exhaustion.

The conversation at the ice cream parlor replays in your mind and you scramble to find your phone, remembering now that you were going to try calling your parents.

You open your contacts, but frown when you can’t find either your mother or father anywhere in the list. Strange… you must have deleted them on accident. Your phone is an old clunky thing with a laundry list of glitches and problems, so you write it off.

After manually dialing your mom’s number, you hold the phone to your ear and wait for the familiar ringing sound as the lines connect. After a beat of nothing, a feminine voice informs you that the number you dialed isn’t valid and to try again.

Did you put in the wrong number? You try again, rattling the phone number off in your head to make sure you’re putting it in right this time.

The same message plays, and you let the device clatter to the floor, staring at the wall as that same feeling festers and grows alarmingly strong in your chest.

 

The pizza restaurant down the street from your high school is a dingy thing with low lighting and scuffed floors. The small dining area is filled with tables and every square inch of wall space is covered in ratty, old stickers and drawings. There’s a pinball machine in the back that plays a lively song, barely audible over the blaring rock music, and casts a soft neon glow across the booth you sit in.

“Got a couple quarters, MJ?” you ask, staring at the cartoon clown on the machine. His glowing red eyes blink at you.

Michelle glances up from the plate she’s hunched over and wipes a spot of grease from her chin. She follows your gaze to the arcade game and breaks into a toothy grin.

“You sure about that? You know I’m reigning champion on that thing, right?”

“Oh come on, I feel like we haven’t played in forever,” you laugh.

Ned chimes in from beside you around a mouthful of pizza, “Yeah, ‘cause you’re a sore loser!”

You feel your cheeks heat and you punch him playfully in the shoulder. He feigns offense, making you laugh harder.

“Here, I got you guys,” Peter grins and supplies a few quarters from his wallet.

You take them eagerly, hopping up from your seat. “Thanks!”

Michelle follows behind you to the pinball machine, a smile on her lips. She pauses to pull her hair up into a ponytail, and you start to feel a little nervous with how serious she’s taking this.

You take your position in front of the machine. The quarter slot has long since been chipped away at and is held together with duct tape at this point, so you have to jam the quarter in forcefully so it won’t stick. The clown’s eyes flash green as you press the start button, little yellow bulbs framing his face blinking in patterns. The metal pinball clicks into place and you pull back the trigger, watching it bounce around the obstacles.

You would never admit it, but you have been practicing a little. You flick the bottom flaps with ease, watching the ball soar through the machine.

MJ lets out a whistle beside you. “Damn, you are getting better at this. I better watch my back or you’ll steal my title.”

You can’t help laughing a little smugly,”That’s right, there’s gonna be a new champion around here if you aren’t careful.”

She goes quiet beside you for a while as you play, thinking to herself. You glance over your shoulder, faltering slightly when you see her smile has melted away.

“What’s wrong?” You turn your attention back to the game. She seemed so lively just a moment ago.

She hesitates to answer, which is something you don’t see from her often. Did your teasing go too far?

“Peter told me you were saying some weird stuff yesterday. He’s worried about you”

Lungs suddenly feeling stripped of air, you turn to look at her with wide eyes. Behind you, the pinball drops into the hole and the machine shrieks a mantra of _game over!_

“He… he did?” You squeak, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and betrayed. Peter was usually pretty good about keeping things like that between the two of you. Why would he _broadcast_ that to all your friends…?

“Ha-ha, my turn,” Michelle takes her place at the machine and inserts her quarter. Your upset must have been written clearly on your face, as she tries to maintain an air of casualness as she starts playing. “He only told me because I’ve been feeling that same way.”

Your eyes widen and you stare at her. You aren’t sure whether to feel relieved or confused, and your brain settles somewhere between the two.

She continues in your silence, “I told him that sometimes I feel like I’m forgetting something. Like, something really important. But then the feeling goes away and I just don’t think about it.”

 _Something you’re forgetting. Something important._ The static fills your ears again and the neon lights of the arcade game suddenly don’t seem as bright. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly it.”

“I’m glad I’m not alone,” her words come out a little strangled, moving around a thick tongue, and you’re taken back by her vulnerability.

You place a hand on her shoulder, rubbing small circles there. The gesture starts awkwardly - you and MJ have never been very physically affectionate - but soon feels more natural and relaxing. The tension from her shoulders melts ever-so-slightly.

“Me too.”

When you return to the table, Ned and Peter are engrossed in conversation - something about comic books, you think - and the rest of the pizza has been devoured.

Peter looks up first, eyes lighting up when they meet yours. “Well? How badly did she beat you this time?”

He uses your nickname, and something about the familiarity of it makes your stomach do a little flip. You grin as you answer, “Actually, _I_ won this time.”

Ned’s jaw drops and Michelle hangs her head beside you. “No way, are you serious? Did you cheat?”

“Hey!”

“I lost fair and square, but I won’t go easy next time.”

Your friends join in boisterous laughter, but even their teasing can’t wipe the stupid smile off your face.

Days like these make you feel like you could stay like this forever, even with the oily smell in the air and the loud music making your head ache.

 

By the time you part with your friends, the sun as starting to dip in the sky and you cast a worried glance at your watch. You’d been meaning to get to the library to find a few books for your final english essay. Maybe if you manage to catch the next train you’ll make it in time, but it’ll be a stretch.

Clutching your book bag at your side, you jog down the block to the subway station. You make your way down the cement steps as fast as you dare, narrowly avoiding stepping on your shoe laces a few times. You manage to make it into the car, just as the doors are sliding shut and sink into a nearby seat to catch your breath.

There’s a library in Queens that would have been much faster to walk to, but the specific books you need aren’t available there and you’re on a bit of a time crunch to get this done by Monday, so ordering them is out of the question.

The trip to Brooklyn is nearly an hour, so you make yourself comfortable and put in headphones. The sound quality from your phone is so terrible it’s almost charming, and you find yourself at ease instantly with an old tune crooning in your ears.

Figuring you may as well do something productive with the time, you crack open your binder to try and get some studying done. _Where did I put those chemistry notes?_

You find a stack of highlighted pages jammed haphazardly between tabs and hold them to your face for inspection. At first, when you struggle to read the words, you blame it on your exhausted eyes. You skim the first paragraph over and over again, frustration starting to surface.

_What the hell…?_

You blink rapidly, willing some information to soak into your brain, but nothing happens. You stare at the block of text, until suddenly, it doesn’t even look like text at all.

The writing on the page becomes blurry and foreign, words turning into nothing more than scribbles. The change is almost imperceptible, but obvious now that you’re paying attention. As if it had looked that way all along and you only now realized. You weren’t struggling to read the words, there weren’t any words to begin with.

You push the papers back into the binder and snap it shut, earning a few glances from the other passengers. You slump back in your seat and stare down at the binder in your hands which are noticeably shaking now. Your breath comes in fast and shallow and blood rushes in your ears.

_What the fuck… what the fuck is going on?_

Your racing thoughts are interrupted as the train screeches to a halt. The doors to the car swing open and you quickly gather your things to dismount with the other passengers. _That’s weird, I thought this route took longer than that._

You walk out into the station, trying desperately to act like you aren’t about to pass out. It must be the lack of sleep lately, it _has_ to be. You’re just exhausted lately, that’s all. You’ll look at those notes tomorrow morning with fresh eyes and everything will be back to normal.

You nod to no one in particular. Yes, everything will be just fine by tomorrow.

What you see next, however, makes you wonder if that’s really the case. The station you’re standing in, _it’s the one you just left twenty minutes ago._

After taking in the familiar surroundings, you speed over to a map on the wall. There’s no way you could have missed the stop at Brooklyn, you take this train all the time. You know the route by heart.

A rush of adrenaline courses through you and you turn around, boarding the same train again with renewed determination. No, there’s no way you could have missed it.

This time, you stand near the door and grip a handle above you. You watch the window with a scowl, praying to whatever gods may be listening that you’re wrong about this. That you really did just miss your stop.

By now, the sky is turning black and you know there’s no way you’ll make it to the library in time, but you don’t care anymore. You have to prove this to yourself.

The train comes to a stop again twenty minutes later and you practically bolt out of the sliding doors. You stop dead in your tracks, passengers spilling out around you into the station and you can’t believe your eyes.

You’re back in Queens. Again.

“You alright?” a bearded man asks from beside you, brow knitted with concern. “You look a little green around the gills.”

“Where are we?” you blurt, hands balled into fists at your sides.

The man chortles, “Ah, first time riding the subway, huh? We’re in Queens. Elmhurst Station, exactly. You need directions?”

You push past him and run to the exit, not bothering to answer. You don’t stop running until you’re several blocks away, and only then to catch your breath before taking off again. You can feel tears pooling in your eyes and the wind whipping your face makes them feel freezing against your cheeks.

By the time you reach the familiar tall, brown apartment building you’re dizzy from the exertion. You approach the call box gasping for air and punch in the code you know by heart.

A few minutes later, Peter’s voice filters through with fuzzy quality. “Yeah?”

“Peter? It’s me. Can I come up?”

He hesitates. “Uh… May doesn’t really like me bringing friends up when she’s not around-”

“Please?” Your voice cracks and a fresh wave of tears spill down your cheeks. “Please, it’s important.”

Not a second later, the front doors buzz and swing open for you. You hurry inside, pulling them shut behind you and start taking the stairs up to his unit two at a time.

When you reach his hallway, you spot him waiting by the open door. His eyes widen as he takes you in, worry immediately etching his features.

“Oh my god, what happened? Are you okay?”

You shake your head and pull him inside. You start pacing the floor in the living room, wringing your hands.

He calls out your nickname softly, and your panicked steps slow. “You’re really scaring me, what’s going on?”

“This is going to sound crazy-” you draw a shuddering breath, trying to talk past the tightness of your throat. “This is going to sound crazy, but I think something’s wrong with me. I- I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Hey- hey calm down, it’s going to be alright,” Peter stops you with a hand on your shoulder and guides you to sit down on the couch beside him. “We’ll figure this out, okay? Do you want something to drink?”

You nod and he leaves to fix some tea in the kitchen, giving you a chance to scrub away the tears and get your breathing back to normal.

 

When he returns, you spill everything to him. The strange feelings you’ve had, the way you seem to keep forgetting things, the fact that you haven’t spoken to your mom in what feels like years. You get choked up again when you tell him about the subway, the memory still too fresh and troubling. _How no one else seems to notice what’s going on._

He takes it all in quietly, and by the time you’re done the cup in your hand is empty and cold.

“I gotta be honest with you, that all does sound a little crazy,” he chuckles softly, resting a hand on your arm. “But… I believe you.”

You glance up at him and see the sincerity in his expression. It suddenly dawns on you the situation you’re in - you woke him up, sobbing on his doorstep and told him the craziest story, and yet -

You feel a warm pressure bloom in your chest, happiness and relief flooding you all at once. You pull him into an embrace, using his shirt to dry your fresh tears.

_“Thank you…!”_

“H-Hey now,” he smiles and pulls you in tighter, running a hand through your hair. “It’s okay. I told you, we’ll figure this out together. I’ll go with you to the metro tomorrow and we’ll try the route to Brooklyn again, alright?”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” the sound is muffled as he presses his lips to your hair. The gesture instantly makes your cheeks flush and you mentally chastise yourself for getting flustered in a situation like this.

 

“Thanks again, Peter,” you smile at your friend as you step out of the apartment, feeling a little awkward in the aftermath of your break down.

“Anytime,” he smiles right back and waves you off.

You march down the flights of stairs with renewed confidence, counting your lucky stars they gave you someone like him.

 

You and your companion stand at the platform, waiting for the train to arrive. You tap your foot anxiously, giving a glance to your watch. You two arrived a little early, and the anticipation is beginning to eat at you.

Finally, the train arrives and you stride in with purpose, depositing yourself on the seat closest to the door. Peter sits beside you, chewing loudly on a piece of gum. The sound is starting to drive you insane with how tightly-wound you are.

Conflicting thoughts and emotions buzzed through your mind as you walked to the station that morning. If you end up being wrong about everything, would Peter judge you? It would certainly make your break down last night very unnecessary. But then again, isn’t that what you should be hoping for? That you really were mistaken and the world is still very much in order?

You don’t really know anymore.

You hadn’t realized you were chewing at your nails until Peter puts a hand on your arm to stop you. “It’s gonna be alright, relax a little.”

You sink back into the chair and sigh. “Yeah, yeah you’re right. Sorry.”

The drive passes in relative silence. Occasionally, Peter mentions a funny story Ned told him or remarks about another passenger, but the conversation quickly fizzles out. You’re too stressed to really give him any substantial response.

Sometime later, the train stops and the doors swing open and you’re almost too scared to get up. Sensing this, Peter eventually takes your hand and guides you out into the station, mumbling something about getting stuck on the train for another loop.

He stops short once you’ve both dismounted, face creasing in confusion.

“Holy shit…” he murmurs, eyes like saucers.

“Are you sure we got on the right one?” you ask, voice wavering.

“Positive.” To be safe, though, he takes out his ticket stub and inspects the route number. “Yeah, this is definitely it. We should be in Brooklyn.”

“Hey,” you say, biting your lip as you turn to meet his eyes. “Let’s try a different one. You got any money left on you?”

He nods, pulling out his wallet. “Where should we try next?”

“Maybe Manhattan? It’s about the same distance in the opposite direction.”

“Good idea.”

You wait around the station for a while as the next train comes, kicking rocks and debris with nothing better to do. Peter’s been uncharacteristically quiet since the first trip, and you can’t help feeling guilty for being the one to sour his mood. He’s always so optimistic, and the shift has you worried.

Finally, the tube to Manhattan arrives and you and your friend board the train once more. This time, you offer him an earbud and start playing some music to help fill the silence. He taps his foot to the beat, watching the windows with narrowed eyes.

When you shuffle out of the train at your destination, your stomach turns and panic sweeps through you.

“No fucking way, this can’t be happening,” Peter voices your same thoughts from beside you, His cheeks have gone white and his eyes dart around Elmhurt station in disbelief.

“There must be something going on here, some reason why we can’t leave Queens…” your own voice sounds foreign to your ears, pale and shaking.

He walks to the nearest wall and slumps down on the ground, folding his knees to his chest. His face scrunches as he thinks and he absently runs a hand over his chin.

“Why don’t we try walking there?”

“Peter, no way. That’d take hours.”

“Well then what if we drive?”

“Do you know anyone with a car?”

“...No. Do you?”

“My parents have one but I don’t have a license and they’d kill me if we took it.”

He sighs heavily, posture sagging in defeat. “Well… I guess we’re stuck.”

“What about a cab?” you propose, taking a seat next to him on the grimy concrete.

“To Manhattan?” He chuckles, “That’d be one hell of a fare and I’ve only got a few dollars left.”

“True…” you start chewing on your thumb nail again as you think, going over everything you know so far in your head. These strange occurrences… they have to mean something. You feel like you know what that something is, too, but the fuzzy feeling returns with vehemence anytime you stretch back your mind to remember.

With a start, another horrifying realization enters your mind. “Peter, do you know what day it is today?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but you watch as his expression morphs from confusion, realization and then sickly pale.

“I don’t.”

You take a shuddering breath, “The weirdest thing - in all of this - is that I’ve been studying for our finals on Monday and… and I’m not even sure when Monday is. When was the last time we went to school?”

His brow furrows and he lifts his hand, counting back silently on his fingers the days you’ve spent together. By the time he reaches past ten, he gives up and scoffs.

“What is this? What is this place?” his voice cracks and he’s beginning to shake. You quickly put your hands on his, hoping to calm him. “Why didn’t - why didn’t I _notice_? How long have we been here?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know, I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Someone - someone will fix this right? Someone will save us?”

A flash of something, a memory, suddenly breaks through the dark fog in your brain with alarming clarity. A team of superheroes clad in bright colors, saving the city time and time again from terrifying alien invasions. Of course- how could you forget them?

“The Avengers!” you gasp, voice swelling with hope. “The Avengers always fix things when the world goes weird. They’ll help us, I know it.”

Peter gives you another puzzled look, lips curled in a sad smile.

“You don’t remember them either, huh?”

“I feel like I should,” he sighs. “That name… ‘Avengers.’ It feels important to me somehow.”

You sit in silence after that, each of you mulling over your own troubling thoughts. The station remains bustling around you, the train screeching as it speeds in and out of the station and passengers chatting loudly. All of them remain oblivious to the two teenagers sitting side by side in a dingy corner of the room, both of you carrying what feels like the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Finally, Peter breaks the tense quiet. “I mean… is this really so bad?”

You shoot him a disbelieving stare, but he continues before you can snap something back at him. “We can just forget all this and go back to the way we were. I mean, if something really is wrong with the world, it doesn’t seem all that bad to me. We get to hang out together and play pinball all the time, if we want. Maybe we should just enjoy it.”

You hate to admit it, but he has a point. You don’t know what else you can do with this new information besides fall deeper into that dark cloud of sadness. Maybe spending your days here with your best friend is actually the best course of action.

“What would we tell MJ and Ned?”

“Nothing,” he smiles, but the mirth doesn’t reach his eyes. “There’s no reason they need to worry about it, too.”

“I’m sorry I roped you into this.”

“Don’t be,” and now his smile is genuine. “I don’t want you to feel alone. Not when you have me.”

His cheeks flush and he quickly looks away, but not before you got a chance to see it. You can’t help smirking at him then.

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” you laugh.

“Oh shut up, you know how I feel. Everyone knows, I can’t hide it.”

The crack in his voice makes the statement even sweeter and you feel a toothy smile take over your face.

 

Hand-in-hand, you two leave the station, a strange mixture of optimism and longing filling your chest and dispelling the sadness that’s been hanging over you.

You walk a few blocks down to the shabby park you visited a few days ago, and he helps you hoist yourself up into the tree after him, insisting to you that the view is much better there. You thank your stars you don’t have any fear of heights with a friend like Peter Parker.

You talk for a while, up in the tree. Both of you try to keep the conversation light after the mental exhaustion you endured in the subway. Eventually, the conversation dies down and you find him staring at you, a mischievous smirk in his eye.

Before you can ask him what he’s looking at you so intently for, his lips are on yours, soft and sweet. The gentle pressure has you eager for more and you push back, gripping the short locks at the nape of his neck.

If there was any doubt in your mind about staying in this place with him, it completely vanishes when he breaks for air, watching you with half-lidded eyes.

“I love you.”

 

 

Waking up is a difficult task. Your eyelids feel like lead and your limbs just as heavy. Eventually, you manage to pry them open, glancing around your dark room. The curtains above your window are drawn shut, leaving the space feeling unnaturally dark for late morning.

_Shit, what day is it? Am I late for school?_

You roll over with no small amount of difficulty to check your alarm clock, but it isn’t on the nightstand where it normally is. In fact, the whole nightstand is missing, and in its place a stack of dusty boxes.

“What the-” you grumble, voice catching and breaking. Your throat feels like sandpaper. Briefly, you wonder if you’re catching a cold, as you sit up and take a look around the room.

Your desk and chair are gone as well from the corner near the window. The rest of the room is in a similar state of starkness, totally bare aside from the naked mattress you lay on and several boxes filling the empty space. Everything is covered in a fine layer of dust.

Now wide awake with alarm, you try to stand from the bed. Your legs feel weak and useless beneath you, and your face meets the floor with a smack.

“Owww… fuck,” you groan, sitting up to rub your injured head. Down the hall you hear hurried footsteps and the door swings open in front of you.

“Don’t move! Hands where I can see -” Your father stops short when he sees you, a baseball bat raised in one hand. His eyes go wide and he lets the weapon clatter to the floor, whispering your name.

Behind him, your mother stands clutching her bathrobe around herself. She gasps when she spots you and rushes past him to pull you to herself. She starts sobbing, loud and ugly and your father soon joins her on the floor.

 

“I’ve been _dead? For five years??_ ”

Your oldest brother, Oscar, nods and takes a swig from his coffee. “After the snap, half the population just disappeared into ash. You… you were one of them.”

He grips the handle of his mug tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. “If I ever get my hands on that stupid, purple son-of-a-bitch…”

“Language!” your mother hisses from across the room. She’s watching the news intently for an explanation for your current state of… well, not being dead.

God, that’s a lot to wrap your head around.

“Sorry about your room,” your other brother, Oliver, the middle child between you and Oscar, chimes in. He’s managed to calm down enough to speak, even though he’d been crying and fretting over you for the last hour. “That must have been hard to wake up in. We wanted to keep it the way it was just in case, but… well, we started to lose our faith that you were coming back.”

“Everyone did,” Oscar grumbled. “The Avengers stopped giving a shit about the rest of us after that attack.”

You don’t think that could possibly be true, but you hold your tongue. He’s in pain and lashing out, that’s all.

“Hey can I go call Peter? I wanna make sure he’s okay.”

Your mother returns to the table and gives you a sad smile, stroking your hair. “That old phone you’ve been using didn’t last much longer after you left. We had to get rid of it, but we’ll get you a new one as soon as we can, okay?”

You nod. You can hold out a little longer to check up on him. He’s probably spending time with May, anyway, if your brothers are right about him being killed by Thanos, too

“What was it like while you were… y’know,” Oliver blurts out, his expression turning grim as he struggles to ask the question. “Did you see the whole pearly gate stuff or just… nothingness?

You rest your chin in your hand, eyes bouncing around the room as you grasp at the few fragmented memories you have from before waking. A flash of a gorgeous sunset and the pinball machine you and your friends always play on. Peter’s laughter filling your ears, his lips against yours.

“I don’t remember,” you sigh, a somber smile forcing its way to your lips. “But I think it was beautiful.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea stuck in my head since I watched Infinity War and I finally got around to writing it. Gotta say, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out.


End file.
